Maggie May Ch. 07

Please read the earlier chapters of this series to understand the characters. It'll make it much less complicated to see who's being fucked by whom..and who may about to be......

Late Saturday morning......

John had already procured his rental car at the Savannah airport, and was heading north along the country back roads for the hour or so drive to Hilton Head. He eschewed using I-95 in favor of the back roads, the Spanish Moss trees dipping over the roads to provide natural shade, the cotton fields lining the sides of the road for miles. He had allotted extra time for himself, anticipating one air-traffic-related delay or another which always seemed inevitable when flying on U.S. Scare, as the airline was known in Philadelphia, its hub. However, today, miracle of miracles, the flights were right on schedule. He could take his time and soak in the ambiance and beauty of Hilton Head Island for a few hours before his two o'clock appointment with Sarah Olson.

For her part, Sarah was still in front of her full-length bedroom mirror, trying to decide between the flowery off-white sundress that went down almost to mid-calf, or the shorter, sexier, pale pink chiffon dress that rose a few inches above the knee, and exposed her ample chest more than she would usually wear into her office. But, it was Saturday, and even though it was the busiest day for a real estate agent, most agents attired themselves in more casual fashion on Saturdays, especially when the temperature still promised to reach the low 80's with the Low Country's ever present humidity.

She ultimately decided on pink and short, no bra, and the sheerest of a matching pink thong. She rolled her light brown hair up into a tight bun, and put on her horn-rimmed librarian-like glasses instead of her contacts. Her sparkling green eyes were a bit bloodshot, she hadn't slept well last evening, having an unusually keen intuition that this mysterious visitor coming down from the north was not here only for real estate pursuits. She heard something enticing in his voice, deep, confident, alluring. It excited her.

Her intuition was accurate.

Back in the Philadelphia area, Maggie was already well into her day at the store. Her own wardrobe today was a bit more risque than she had normally allowed herself to wear, but since the intense sexual aerobics with John on Thursday, she had been nearly insatiably horny. Still. She had on a very tight, mid-thigh tan skirt that hugged her hips and ass, and was especially revealing whenever she bent down to help a customer with shoes. Most of the men in the store, mostly husbands grumpily tagging along with their wives, became suddenly very interested in the happenings in the women's shoes department this morning, craning their necks to get an extended peak, and one man even walked directly into a cosmetic display, knocking it noisily to the floor, Estee Lauder products flying everywhere.

Maggie was unable to procure a sitter for her pre-teen daughter for the evening, which meant she should be home no later than eight.

Yet, that hadn't altered her plan, she craved some cock, her new-found sexual appetite ravenous for young, steel-hard dick. She promised herself again that she wouldn't succumb to the temptations of getting fucked tonight. She knew her holes would need to be completely ready fro Sunday evening activities at the "Charlotte Olson Invitational Fuckfest', but dammit, she was going to suck a cock this evening. Some unsuspecting stud would find Happy Hour an apt moniker by seven-thirty or so. She had about ninety minutes from the time she left work until the time she tasted warm cum before departing to play mom.. All the time required, Maggie decided. In the mean time, about every thirty minutes she would find a secluded corner of her stock room, and, assuring herself that no one else was around, she kept pulling the thin fabric of her g-string tighter into her twat, sending small pulsations of self-gratification coursing through her body.

Speaking of self-gratification, Charlotte Olson was still lounging in her master bedroom, one hand holding a vibrator deeply imbedded in her well-used cunt, two fingers of her other hand digitally probing and exploring her own rectum, a remote control for the DVD player lying next to her. She was watching the recording of her savage anal pounding by her personal trainer yesterday afternoon in her gym room, matching her numerous electronically-recorded orgasms from yesterday with real-life self-induced orgasms this morning. Charlotte needed no such respite from sexual exercise prior to tomorrow's private party with John and Maggie. In fact, she had a basketball game to attend tonight, and it was her intent to play 'jump ball' with that yummy seven-foot-tall rookie power forward after the game.

John had enjoyed a leisurely lunch at the Salty Dog cafe, flirting with the overly attentive, tall, dark-haired Latina waitress in her tight little white miniskirt who gave him her number in case he was free that evening. "Hey," he told her while leaving a generous tip. "Ya never know." He hadn't yet made a hotel reservation, because depending on how the meeting went with Sarah, he hadn't yet ruled out driving back to Savannah and lodging there for the evening before catching his flight back tomorrow. River Street in Savannah was not the worst place to spend a Saturday evening when by yourself. Yet, fate had other plans for him.

He entered the cozy real estate office of Low Country Realty at two p.m. sharp, and the only person he saw in the outer office was a very shapely young lady of perhaps in her early twenties resembling a younger Jennifer Love Hewitt in a tastefully revealing pink dress, her hair up in bun, tugging at the glasses on her nose. She looked up and let her gaze linger up and down this visitor for a few seconds longer than she needed to. Khaki shorts, navy blue Polo shirt, jet black hair. Green or hazel eyes, she wondered, hmmm.

"Oh, my, CUTE!", she thought to herself, her face flushing instantly, which did not go unnoticed by the customer. She smiled widely at the young man, and asked cordially, "How may I help you?"

Only one word came to John's mind as he took in the vision of innocent, fresh, nubile loveliness in front of him. "Wow!" There was that word again. Sarah was a spitting image of her mom facially, but more petite, more slender, and even more naturally pretty, not a hint of make-up adorned on her cover-model-like face. She exuded a clean, athletic sexiness, and her body was honed from her days as a field hockey player and track star at Coastal Carolina College. She did not have her mother's voluptuous boobs (and John should know since his own cock was buried between her mother's huge tits less than twenty-four hours before), but they were perfectly proportioned, and protruded perkily within the shoulder straps of her tastefully daring summer dress.

He composed himself, feeling his own face flush. "Yes, I have an appointment with Sarah Olson. I'm John Davis from Philadelphia."

She rose from her chair, the tight dress rising up to above mid-thigh, and she was pleased that Mr. Davis was taking visual inventory. She took off her glasses, and extended her hand to shake in welcome, but not in the Marie Antoinette-like manner utilized by her haughty mother. "Well, you've found her, Mr. Davis. Welcome to Hilton Head Island." The instant mutual chemistry was palpable as the pair shook hands warmly, each reluctant to let go of the grasp of the other. Sarah finally let go. "So, are we ready to go explore? I've freed my calendar for as long as you need me today"

"And tonight, too, and the morning, and the rest of my life," Sarah thought to herself. She looked deeply into John's eyes, they were light green, cat-like, almost the hue of her own fetching eyes. "Well, I guess our children will have green eyes, too," she daydreamed, smiling unwittingly.

Sarah regrouped quickly, it was so uncharacteristic her to gush, and after all, this WAS a business meeting.

Wasn't it?

She continued to blush, though. "I'm sorry, and please, it IS miss, but call me Sarah. And, no, forgive me, nothing is funny, Mr. Davis. I'm just glad I have the pleasure of escorting you today, and hope I can interest you in a few options."

You already have, believe me, John thought to himself. "I'm John, Sarah. Now that the formalities are out of the way, may I tell you what I'm really interested in?" He glanced around the office. "I hate to ask this, but are we alone? Some of my, um, subject matters, are rather confidential."

He looked intently at Sarah. "For both of us. And I need your help. I'm not here on real estate matters, truthfully."

Sarah's curiosity was instantly peaked at this revelation. Her intuition was spot-on. And, despite the anxiety and trepidation that she suddenly felt, she was betrayed by a warm gush of liquid now flowing freely from her pussy and coating her lacy thong. Her bra-less nipples clung to the chiffon material of her dress, aching for release. She sensed mystery, she sensed danger.

She sensed sex.

They sat in a small corner conference room in Sarah's office, and for the next half-hour, John talked while Sarah listened, sometimes mortified, sometimes enraged, sometimes confused, sometimes inquisitive, something unbelieving, the myriad of emotions flooding in and out of her like a tsunami. John prefaced his remarks by assuring Sarah that what he was about to tell her was not intended to be malicious or embarrassing, and he implored her that if she helped him with his plan, she would then see that justice would be served.

It sounded a bit corny on the surface, but the passion and sincerity and earnestness with which John delivered his tale did indeed convince Sarah ultimately that it was the right thing to do to participate. Plus, she reasoned, it would be a way of extracting a not-so-small measure of revenge against her mother, the evil witch who had essentially shamed Sarah out of any chance of ever again living a normal family life.

Sarah was somewhat amazed at the level of detail of events that had transpired at her parents' divorce trial, events that had long been bought with hush money into sworn secrecy. John indeed had a good and knowledgeable source of the levels of extortion involved by all the disgusting parties.

The trial, and its aftermath, had left Sarah with a father who was now in self-imposed exile in Central America, a broken man, and a mother whose moral fiber and publicly phony facade turned her stomach. This plan did seem like it had potential to give her mother her much-needed comeuppance, and Sarah's first instinct was to dive in with both feet. It didn't hurt John's cause that while she listened to his story, she had to struggle to keep her mind from wandering what this handsome, intelligent, and determined young man would feel like pumping into her deepest tunnels. Despite herself, she was drenched, nearly sticking to her seat. It had been awhile since a man has attracted her quite so much.

What she didn't tell John, at least not for the time being, was that she could personally substantiate John's belief that her mother's local villa was not only wired for surveillance, but somewhere within the house untold graphic and compromising tapes were stored. Sarah still had the keys to her mother's hideaway, and had stumbled upon some tapes in a dresser drawer a few months back when she had to make a rare visit to her mother's house to look for some routine deed documents. Sarah decided that she wouldn't reveal the identities of the people who were on the one tape that she viewed, not just yet. Until Sarah knew more.

John leaned back in his chair, visibly fatigued from the energy that he had poured into his plea for Sarah's assistance. He was the only one who could make this plan work, they both knew, and he was almost exclusively reliant upon her help. He smiled at her, wearily, charmingly, and clasped his palms together in a prayer-like pose. "That's my confession, Sister Sarah, that's all I got. So, will you be my guardian angel?"

It was all Sarah could do to not to break into laughter and leap over the table and jump his bones. He was pretty irresistible, and believable. Yet, she went through the motions of still being reticent. She drummed her slender fingers on the table and eyed John with a raised eyebrow. She first asked one of the two questions that most peaked her curiosity.

"I'm not much of a detective, sir, but might I deduce from this saga that you and Mrs. Cox have been playing horizontal hockey?"

John looked into Sarah's eyes, two pairs of sparkling green eyes locked in a mutual stare that contained a lot of sexual tension, tempered with desire that they hoped they could each trust the other. He decided to be succinct and direct.

"Yes, once."

Good for Mrs. Cox, Sarah thought to herself. First she rolls around with this bouncer Sean for a few days, and then she latches onto this hunk John. Who would have thought that classy Mrs. Cox would be reeling in such steady young cock? Yet, Sarah knew of the tape that she had seen, and who was in it, and this mangled jigsaw puzzle of carnal 'who's who' was beginning to take some shape in Sarah's mind. Mrs. Cox's biggest mistake was getting involved with my mother, Sarah thought.

John sat wiggling a bit in his chair and patiently waited for Sarah to absorb all of this information. Sarah sat there nodding, contemplating his response and the ramifications that her next question may evoke. She watched John's body language closely as she uttered the next inquiry. His answer was the key to whether she would participate in this plan.

"John, have you fucked my mother?"

If there was a polygraph attached to John's skin, he probably would have passed, because technically the answer he was about to give was truthful. Yet his body language betrayed him. He blushed, squirmed, fidgeted, raised his palms pleadingly, and finally looked Sarah in the eye and again simply said, "No."

Sarah gazed at him disbelievingly. "I'll ask you again." She stared daggers into him, waiting for his revised answer. If his answer was actually true, he had to be one of the few young studs in Philly that his mom hadn't yet caught in her web. Charlotte's web.

"Sarah, I haven't, really, I swear." Her brow lightened a little, it was apparent that John either wasn't a very good liar or a good actor. He reached over to hold her hand, a move that endeared him to Sarah instantly, and convinced her she would go along with his request. "Look, she's, uh, well, you know how she is, she's kinda made it known that she may, uh, like to, but I haven't, uh." He stopped, not wishing to ramble on, hoping that Sarah would recognize the sincerity. Sarah didn't have to know everything, but the fact of the matter was that he could indeed answer with the truth.

He looked at her and smiled bashfully, child-like, seeking forgiveness and acceptance. "The answer is no, Sarah, I have not. She may have wanted me to, and I, uh, I admit that I've thought about it, but, no, I haven't." He got down on his knees in a playful attempt to lighten the tension. "I throw myself on the mercy of the beautiful judge, your honor. I rest my case."

Sarah took a paperweight from the table top and slammed it down on the table, imitating a judge swinging her gavel. "Will the defendant please rise."

John stood smiled and thought to himself, "I've been up ever since I first saw you, Judge". He decided that this wouldn't help him at this point, however, so he did something he wasn't necessarily prone to do. He shut up.

Sarah rose from the table herself, and gain John could not help but to divert his gaze down to her shapely muscular calves and thighs as she stood. Sarah again smiled inwardly, secretly hoping that she would be the first woman in the Olson family to have John, all of him, she admitted to herself that she wanted this man, it had been far too long since Sarah met someone who attracted her so much. But first things first, there was a plan to enact.

"The court rules to continue this case pending the discovery of further evidence. The court will act upon the defendant's request and visit the scene of the alleged, um, crimes, so to speak, and we will reconvene in two hours. In the mean time, does the defendant have a place to stay?"

John confessed that he hadn't confirmed any lodging accommodations as of yet. Sarah gave him the keys to a condo that overlooked Calibogue Sound, and insisted he spend the next few hours there while Sarah did her due diligence. John resisted initially, but Sarah explained that the owners were personal friends of hers who only spent a few weeks a year at the beautiful condo, and she basically had carte-blanche to use the condo for herself anytime she desired. Today, she desired. So, John gratefully accepted, took the directions from Sarah, and they agreed to meet at the condo later that afternoon.

Sarah instructed John that it would not be wise for him to be sen at her mother's house, lest he possibly be caught on tape, so she needed to act alone on her tape-hunting excursion. She felt like a secret agent, and that excited tremendously her, she determined that must be the reason her thong was so damn drenched. Yes, that had to be it.

What she found when she returned to meet John with the evidence was more than John had ever expected. The plot thickened.

For all of Charlotte Olson's deceit and cunning, her filing system for sex-tape storage wasn't exactly state-of-the-art-double-top-secret-coding. Sarah quickly found not only the tape that she had stumbled upon previously, the one marked "Meredith and the Doc, 7/09", but also a new one marked "Maggie and Sean, 9/09". There were several more, but they not only seemed to be irrelevant for the moment, but their existence almost nauseated Sarah. Not only was her mother a slut, she was an extorting slut. Sarah was so glad that she had made the decision not to return to Philadelphia after graduation, not in the wake of the family ruins. Times may be a bit tough living on her own, but no one knew her or the family past down here, and that was the way she liked it.

She got in her car to drive back to the condo where John awaited. Not too long after she began driving, her cell phone rang. She fully expected it to be a client, after all, Saturdays were usually fairly hectic in real estate. Instead, she recognized the number on the dispaly screen to be that of her current roommate, Rossi, a tall, gorgeous, long-legged Peruvian girl who had also been her roommate in college, and teammate on the track team. Rossi, short for Rosalinda, was working currently as a waitress at the Salty Dog cafe in the day, and had been recently hired at the brand new gentleman's club at Sea Pines Circle. Yep, there was no soft-soaping it, Sarah thought to herself as she picked up the phone. Her roomie was a stripper, and reeling in boatloads of cash already.

"Hi, honey," Sarah said into the mouthpiece. "How's your day going, Mae West?" it was Sarah's new nickname for her closest friend, a mocking tribute to her new nocturnal profession.

"OMG!"

Rossi breathlessly yelled into Sarah's ear, as she pulled the phone away slightly to ease the decibel level. "I am SUCH a slut, I met the dreamiest guy today, I gave him my number, and I can't stop thinking about him. In fact, I had to go into the ladies room on my break and have some self-fun, I am so hot for him. But, I'll never see him again, probably, and I even gave him my number, something I NEVER do. Just my luck. Another night with my roomie and a rented movie, you remember I'm off tonight, right? We were going to go to that new seafood restaurant and then watch that DVD, just a chill night, dear, cool?"